The Best Law of Attraction Book for Children You’ve Never Read (Chapter 1)
THE BEST LAW OF ATTRACTION BOOK FOR CHILDREN YOU’VE NEVER READ
Please find below the complete first chapter of Cory Groshek‘s debut, middle grade children’s book, Breaking Away: Book One of the Rabylon Series. It is being provided to you free-of-charge by the author, exclusively through this site and courtesy of Manifestation Machine Books, because the author believes the information contained within the book is simply too important to be given only to those of us (parents, guardians, caretakers, and children) who can afford to pay for it.
(PLEASE NOTE: This book is copyrighted by Cory Groshek and all rights with regards to it are reserved. Accordingly, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise (except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews) without written permission of the publisher (Manifestation Machine). For information regarding permission, write to: Manifestation Machine, Attention: Permissions Department, 300 Packerland Dr # 13464, Green Bay, WI 54307.)
This book, which was written over the course of about 2.5 years by Groshek, encapsulates Groshek’s entire philosophy with regards to dreaming big, taking risks, trusting our gut, and choosing faith over fear in all that we do. Furthermore, the book brings together lessons about the Law of Attraction, the principles of Hermetic philosophy, and the teachings of Jesus Christ relative to abundance in a way that no other book in history has.
Whether we regard this book simply as a “Law of Attraction book for kids”, a self-help book for children cleverly disguised as an action-adventure, or a distinctly spiritual slant on classic storytelling (all of which are accurate descriptions), the fact remains that Breaking Away: Book One of the Rabylon Series stands as the one and only Law of Attraction book in existence today which puts the Law into language our children can understand. It is a must-read for anyone, parent or child, who dreams of someday finding their own abundance on the other side of the obstacles that stand between us and our dreams and should be required reading in every elementary school on Earth.
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BREAKING AWAY: BOOK ONE OF THE RABYLON SERIES (Chapter 1)
In the world, there had always been two types of creatures. One lived a rich, abundant life, full of happiness and prosperity. The other lived a poor, impoverished life, full of sadness and limitation. To the former, the world seemed a beautiful, generous place, eager to pour even more good things upon them. But to the latter, the world seemed a dreadful, thieving place, intent on taking what little they had away from them, and to young Remy and Rhea, the world was just such a place.
As twin bunnies who had spent their entire lives in abject poverty, Remy and Rhea knew very well that the world was divided between the haves and the have nots. Some rabbits seemed to have everything, while others seemed to have nothing at all. And in their village, a tiny place called Rabylon, most rabbits had nothing. This was despite the fact that the world had seen fit to place the village in the midst of everything—at the bend of a long, winding creek, in the middle of an expansive forest, and not too far from a lush, green hill so tall that it seemed to scrape against the sky.
For most Rabylonians, each day was very much the same. And on this day, an especially hot and humid summer day, Remy and Rhea found themselves in one of two large, dusty fields on the west side of the village, just east of the creek. The fields, each about six times as long as they were wide, were separated by a long dirt path which encircled the village. And those fields, filled with row after row of bushy green tops, were the source of Rabylon’s entire carrot supply.
Rhea stood on her hindquarters and stretched to ease her aching back, as the late afternoon sun scorched the earth and burned a hole in the clear, blue sky. Beside her stood an old, two-wheeled and two-handled cart made of splintered wood, which was about a quarter full of various green plants.
“Plant, water, and pluck,” she said, “plant, water, and pluck!” She carelessly tossed a pawful of weeds into her cart, “I’m tired of working!”
Although she’d been born at the same time as her brother, she was smaller than Remy. Her fur, a rich brown along her back, faded to a pretty cream at her belly. Even though her field work was dirty and hot, she always managed to keep the rings around her eyes a crisp white.
“Me, too,” said Remy as he stood up straight and wiped some sweat from his brow. Beside him stood a dirty, ramshackle cart much like his sister’s. “All I want to do is splash around in the creek!”
The fur on his back, a shade or two darker than Rhea’s, was speckled with black. The speckles made him look a little dirtier than he actually was, even after he’d rinsed himself off. They also made the white streaks on either side of his muzzle stand out which, in turn, made his already enormous eyes look even larger.
“Oh, look,” Remy grumbled, motioning with his head toward the field to his east, “it’s our ‘Hero and Savior’…”
The bunnies turned toward the sound of pained grunts that were coming from the path alongside them. The grunts were those of four very skinny bucks, or male rabbits, each on two legs, as they shouldered a palanquin which, to Remy and Rhea, looked just like a big, fancy chair attached to a pair of long, horizontal poles on either side of its seat. Atop the palanquin sat their “Hero and Savior”, the Mayor of Rabylon, Monty Cottonsworth III.
The Mayor was an enormous fellow with chocolatey-brown fur and a belly so large that its folds overflowed his haunches whenever he stood. The span of his bottom, an impressively broad bottom, was as wide as Rhea was long. Even the Mayor’s ears were enormous, like overly plump pillows that hung from either side of his head. Despite his girth, the Mayor could have gotten around Rabylon without the palanquin if he had wanted to—but the truth was, he didn’t have to.
As the Mayor, he had certain rights, and among them was the right to be waited upon and served by others. As such, he wasn’t about to do for himself what someone else could do for him. Making his way around the village and taking occasional tours of the carrot fields, for example, was what he had palanquin bearers for. And addressing any problems that could arise, such as villagers not doing their work, was a job he left to his Enforcers.
The Enforcers, a squad of four brutish bucks with bulging muscles and scowling faces, were the Mayor’s personal bodyguards. The group had served the Mayor’s grandfather, Monty Cottonsworth I, as well as the Mayor’s father, Monty Cottonsworth II, and now it served Monty Cottonsworth III. All Rabylonians knew that wherever the Mayor was, at least one or two Enforcers were nearby. As such, villagers knew better than to speak unfavorably of the Mayor, as there was always the possibility that an Enforcer could overhear and arrest them.
Remy and Rhea had no desire to be arrested, so they quieted themselves as the palanquin drew near, flanked by a pair of upright Enforcers. Once the fancy chair was within a hundred feet or so of them, they could make out more of its details.
A pillow of the finest down and the softest silk cushioned its seat. Knobs on the arms of the chair had been carved into the likenesses of the Mayor’s father and grandfather. The long poles that stretched along either side of the chair, gripped tightly by the four struggling bucks beneath them, had been shaped to resemble singular rabbits stretched out as if running, which Remy and Rhea found ironic, because not even the Enforcers with all of their muscles would have been able to run while carrying the Mayor.
The grunts of the palanquin bearers grew more strained with every inch of progress they made. As they treaded cautiously, one tiny step at a time, their faces grimaced and contorted from their terrible burden. More than once they stumbled upon pebbles or stones, yet they never dropped the palanquin, for if they did, they knew that the pain of their being crushed under its weight would pale in comparison to the punishment they would face by decree of the Mayor.
“Those poor rabbits,” said Rhea. “They’re just like Mama and Papa—way too skinny for that.”
“Shhh!” said Remy. “The Enforcers might hear you.”
“Just look at him,” Rhea whispered. “He’s always wearing new clothes and all kinds of fancy jewelry. I bet he would coat his whiskers with gold if he could!”
The two fell silent as the Mayor’s entourage drew within fifty feet of them. They reluctantly dropped to one knee each to pay tribute to their “Hero”—an act which was both customary and obligatory in Rabylon for any time the Mayor approached—and their co-workers followed suit.
With the palanquin so close, the bunnies could see that the Mayor’s opulence was unparalleled. He wore a flowing, crimson red robe, the outer shell of which was made of silky-smooth, damask satin, and the inner lining of which was made of the softest, finest cotton. The garment was secured by a silky, golden sash around his waist that could have wrapped around the average Rabylonian several times. Beside the Mayor, even the Enforcers, who were no doubt some of the best dressed rabbits in all of Rabylon, appeared positively pedestrian.
Despite being no match for the Mayor’s finery, the Enforcers’ outfits were undeniably stunning in their own right. Their matching cotton jackets, dyed a bright cherry red, were held shut with a row of gold buttons that ran from their waists all the way to their necklines. Black and gold cuffs on the ends of their sleeves matched their black and gold collars, giving their uniforms an air of prestige. And finally, the authoritative ensembles were capped off by epaulettes with golden tassels, which were attached to the collars via shoulder straps and more gold buttons.
In stark contrast to the attire of the Mayor and his guards was that of the palanquin bearers. Their uniforms, if they could even have been labeled as such, consisted solely of tattered gray vests that had been patched and re-patched and patched again. Had it not been for a small golden insignia—the letters “MC” for Monty Cottonsworth—sewn on to the left chest of the vests, the palanquin bearers would have been indistinguishable from any other bucks.
As the Mayor passed by Remy and Rhea, a cloud of lilac cologne wafted from his robe. Rhea’s nose tickled and twitched as she caught a whiff of it, and not only because of the perfume. On that same cloud of scent, she could smell what the Mayor had eaten for breakfast: Carrot stew much thicker than the thin soup her family was accustomed to, freshly baked bread made from rich carrot flour, and carrots roasted until their sweet juices had thickened into syrup.
The bunnies’ mouths began to water. They had scarcely ever smelled anything so amazing, let alone eaten it. After having worked themselves nearly to exhaustion, they could have fainted just at the thought of eating some of the things the Mayor got to eat every day. But faint, fortunately, they did not, for the last thing they wanted was for the Mayor to think they were being disrespectful.
As soon as the Mayor had disappeared from view, the two rose to their feet and resumed their work.
“Why is the Mayor the only one who gets to live like that?” asked Remy as he pulled a pawful of weeds from the earth.
“Because that’s just the way it is,” said Rhea, tossing some weeds into her cart, “like Papa always says.”
“Well,” Remy snorted, “it’s not fair! All we do is work, work, work, and he never seems to work at all!” He suddenly cupped his mouth, realizing he’d been far too loud, and looked around to make sure no one had heard him. Fortunately, his co-workers were far too engrossed in their own work to have paid him any attention.
“I bet he has all the time in the world to paint and write poetry,” said Rhea.
“You mean, when he’s not busy eating all the carrots we pick?” asked Remy snidely.
“Everyone says he keeps our village safe, but all I ever see him do is ride around on that fancy chair of his. I would love to live like that.” Rhea let out a heavy sigh.
“Don’t say that!” snapped Remy. “He’s awful! And he’s greedy! Why would you want to be like him?”
“I didn’t mean it like that. I just…” Rhea trailed off. Her gaze drifted toward the creek a few hundred yards to the west. She and Remy hadn’t played in it since they were babies, and she silently wondered if she’d ever get to play in it again. “I don’t want to work all day after school anymore. We never have any time to play! All we do is pull weeds and pick carrots, and I don’t want to do it anymore!”
In Rabylon, as soon as bunnies were old enough to feed themselves, they were considered old enough for school. And if they were old enough for school, they were also considered old enough to work. As such, Remy and Rhea had been working, in some way or another, since they were about a year old. Initially, their work days—which started early in the morning and weren’t finished until sunset—had consisted mostly of schoolwork, with only a couple hours of fieldwork in the afternoon. But as they’d grown older, stronger, and more physically capable, they’d found themselves spending less time in class and more time in the fields.
For most bunnies, this wouldn’t have been a problem, as most bunnies were raised to believe that work—whether in school or in the fields—was the only thing in life that truly mattered, and that all else was nothing more than a distraction. But then, Remy and Rhea weren’t like most bunnies.
Unlike most bunnies, they’d developed a love of art at a very young age—for Rhea a love of poetry and for Remy a love of painting—after having discovered a secret chest full of art supplies in the loft of their house. They could still remember, as if it were yesterday, the first time they’d created a painting and a page of poetry on some sheets of paper and shown them to their parents. While their mother had been impressed and very proud of them, their father had become very angry. He’d told them that art had long been banned in Rabylon and that if they were caught practicing it, they would be punished. Then he’d snatched their papers away from them and demanded to know where they’d found their art supplies.
Although Remy and Rhea had been taught to be honest, they’d known that if they’d told their father the truth he’d have found their secret chest and taken it away, and so they’d lied and told him they’d found their supplies at school instead. Accordingly, he’d admonished them to never steal from school and made them promise to never practice art again. And they kept that promise—but only for a day.
The very next night, they were back in the loft, creating more paintings and poems. They’d known that what they were doing was “wrong”, and that it could’ve gotten them into a lot of trouble, but they hadn’t cared. They’d sworn up and down to each other that they’d never stop doing what they loved, no matter how dangerous it was, and would keep it a secret for the rest of their lives if they had to. And for the next several years, they did just that. But then, their work began to get in the way.
While in their younger years they may have had some energy left for painting and poetry by the time they’d arrived home in the evening, they now ended most days too exhausted to even think about art, let alone practice it. At first, this had simply saddened them, and they’d held out hope that someday they would find some free time to once again do what they loved. But then “someday” never came, and slowly, but surely, their sadness gave way to anger.
They’d spent countless nights complaining to each other that no matter how long or how hard they worked, they weren’t getting any closer to the freedom they so desperately desired. And then one day, when they realized that their hopes for a better life were futile and that their dreams would never come true, they died—albeit not in the physical but the spiritual sense.
This meant that while Remy and Rhea still seemed to be alive, at least as far as outward appearances were concerned, they were indeed dead, and their hearts, which had long been where their hopes and dreams had dwelt, had become empty, aching shells.
“Do you remember what we used to do?” asked Remy, “At night, after Mama and Papa were asleep?”
Rhea nodded. Tears began to fill her big, brown eyes. She snuffled hard to keep them from falling.
“I used to write about all the things we dreamed about,” she thumbed away her tears, “and you painted pictures of them.”
“I loved your poems!” said Remy. “They made it sound like everybody had enough to eat and didn’t have to work all the time. I wish it was like that in real life.”
“And I loved your paintings!” said Rhea. “But I can’t remember the last time I dreamed about anything,” she frowned, “And we haven’t written or painted anything in so long. Why did we stop?”
“Because we’ve become like them,” Remy made a sweeping gesture toward their co-workers. “Everybody here is too busy to dream about anything.”
It was true. All most rabbits in Rabylon did was work, from sun up to sun down, day in and day out, seven days a week. They never stopped to watch the birds fly across the sky or to cool off in the creek. They never laughed; they never smiled. All of their time was spent producing their share of carrots for the village, and the closest any of them ever got to dreaming was when they hallucinated from the heat of the sun.
“I don’t want to stop dreaming, Remy,” said Rhea, her lower lip trembling.
“Me, neither,” Remy took a hold of his sister’s paw and squeezed it tightly.
The bunnies may have no longer had their dreams, but at least they still had each other.
If you like what you’ve read here today, please be aware that Breaking Away: Book One of the Rabylon Series by Cory Groshek is also available in the following formats:
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